Almost Dead Read online

  A L M O S T D E A D

  (The Au Pair—Book Three)

  B L A K E P I E R C E

  Blake Pierce

  Blake Pierce is the USA Today bestselling author of the RILEY PAGE mystery series, which includes sixteen books (and counting). Blake Pierce is also the author of the MACKENZIE WHITE mystery series, comprising thirteen books (and counting); of the AVERY BLACK mystery series, comprising six books; of the KERI LOCKE mystery series, comprising five books; of the MAKING OF RILEY PAIGE mystery series, comprising five books (and counting); of the KATE WISE mystery series, comprising six books (and counting); of the CHLOE FINE psychological suspense mystery, comprising five books (and counting); of the JESSE HUNT psychological suspense thriller series, comprising five books (and counting); of the AU PAIR psychological suspense thriller series, comprising two books (and counting); and of the ZOE PRIME mystery series, comprising two books (and counting).

  An avid reader and lifelong fan of the mystery and thriller genres, Blake loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.blakepierceauthor.com to learn more and stay in touch.

  Copyright © 2020 by Blake Pierce. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Jacket image Copyright Mimadeo, used under license from Shutterstock.com.

  BOOKS BY BLAKE PIERCE

  THE AU PAIR SERIES

  ALMOST GONE (Book#1)

  ALMOST LOST (Book #2)

  ALMOST DEAD (Book #3)

  ZOE PRIME MYSTERY SERIES

  FACE OF DEATH (Book#1)

  FACE OF MURDER (Book #2)

  FACE OF FEAR (Book #3)

  A JESSIE HUNT PSYCHOLOGICAL SUSPENSE SERIES

  THE PERFECT WIFE (Book #1)

  THE PERFECT BLOCK (Book #2)

  THE PERFECT HOUSE (Book #3)

  THE PERFECT SMILE (Book #4)

  THE PERFECT LIE (Book #5)

  THE PERFECT LOOK (Book #6)

  CHLOE FINE PSYCHOLOGICAL SUSPENSE SERIES

  NEXT DOOR (Book #1)

  A NEIGHBOR’S LIE (Book #2)

  CUL DE SAC (Book #3)

  SILENT NEIGHBOR (Book #4)

  HOMECOMING (Book #5)

  TINTED WINDOWS (Book #6)

  KATE WISE MYSTERY SERIES

  IF SHE KNEW (Book #1)

  IF SHE SAW (Book #2)

  IF SHE RAN (Book #3)

  IF SHE HID (Book #4)

  IF SHE FLED (Book #5)

  IF SHE FEARED (Book #6)

  IF SHE HEARD (Book #7)

  THE MAKING OF RILEY PAIGE SERIES

  WATCHING (Book #1)

  WAITING (Book #2)

  LURING (Book #3)

  TAKING (Book #4)

  STALKING (Book #5)

  RILEY PAIGE MYSTERY SERIES

  ONCE GONE (Book #1)

  ONCE TAKEN (Book #2)

  ONCE CRAVED (Book #3)

  ONCE LURED (Book #4)

  ONCE HUNTED (Book #5)

  ONCE PINED (Book #6)

  ONCE FORSAKEN (Book #7)

  ONCE COLD (Book #8)

  ONCE STALKED (Book #9)

  ONCE LOST (Book #10)

  ONCE BURIED (Book #11)

  ONCE BOUND (Book #12)

  ONCE TRAPPED (Book #13)

  ONCE DORMANT (Book #14)

  ONCE SHUNNED (Book #15)

  ONCE MISSED (Book #16)

  ONCE CHOSEN (Book #17)

  MACKENZIE WHITE MYSTERY SERIES

  BEFORE HE KILLS (Book #1)

  BEFORE HE SEES (Book #2)

  BEFORE HE COVETS (Book #3)

  BEFORE HE TAKES (Book #4)

  BEFORE HE NEEDS (Book #5)

  BEFORE HE FEELS (Book #6)

  BEFORE HE SINS (Book #7)

  BEFORE HE HUNTS (Book #8)

  BEFORE HE PREYS (Book #9)

  BEFORE HE LONGS (Book #10)

  BEFORE HE LAPSES (Book #11)

  BEFORE HE ENVIES (Book #12)

  BEFORE HE STALKS (Book #13)

  BEFORE HE HARMS (Book #14)

  AVERY BLACK MYSTERY SERIES

  CAUSE TO KILL (Book #1)

  CAUSE TO RUN (Book #2)

  CAUSE TO HIDE (Book #3)

  CAUSE TO FEAR (Book #4)

  CAUSE TO SAVE (Book #5)

  CAUSE TO DREAD (Book #6)

  KERI LOCKE MYSTERY SERIES

  A TRACE OF DEATH (Book #1)

  A TRACE OF MUDER (Book #2)

  A TRACE OF VICE (Book #3)

  A TRACE OF CRIME (Book #4)

  A TRACE OF HOPE (Book #5)

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER ONE

  Cassandra Vale hurried along the paved street. Cold rain stung her face, and she blinked it out of her eyes. It was getting late, and already dark, and she was worried she was lost. This part of Milan didn’t look the way she’d expected it to. She’d ended up in one of the main shopping squares. Shoppers, wrapped in dark, stylish coats and holding carrier bags, thronged the wide sidewalk.

  Cassie glanced into the stores as she headed toward the crossroads, wondering if she could ask for directions inside. The brightly lit interiors were oases of comfort and warmth, but in her shabby jacket and wet trainers she doubted she’d be allowed past the door. These names represented the pinnacle of the fashion industry. Emilio Pucci, Dolce & Gabbana, Moschino. The garments themselves seemed as far out of reach as their price tags.

  She would just have to rely on her map, which was rapidly disintegrating in the rain. She stopped at the crossroads to unfold it, realizing that her lips and cheeks felt numb. The damp paper tore as she opened it and she pressed the ripped pieces together, trying to make sense of the complex pattern of streets with the unfamiliar, and by now mostly unreadable, names.

  She’d come too far. She should have turned four blocks ago. Disoriented in the strange place, she h
adn’t stopped to check her bearings. Her hands were shaking as she turned the map, trying to puzzle her way back to where she needed to be. A left turn here, three blocks down—no, five—and then another left turn that led into a twisting labyrinth of roads. That was where she needed to be.

  Cassie folded the pieces as best she could and put them back in her pocket, even though she knew the map wouldn’t survive another outing. She had to concentrate now, and suppress the panic that she would be too late, that the place she needed would have closed by the time she got there, or, worse still, that her journey would end in nothing more than hopeless disappointment.

  This was her only chance to find her sister, Jacqui. It was the only lead she had.

  Struggling to keep the picture of the route in her mind, she half ran down the streets, noticing that as she left Milan’s fashion epicenter behind, the walkways became narrower and the shop fronts less imposing. This was where the cheaper items and knock-offs were displayed, the Euro prices dropping with every block and January sale notices screaming from the shabby windows.

  She caught sight of herself in the darkened glass. Her skin was winter-pale, her cheeks flushed from the cold. She’d pulled a lime-green beanie over her shoulder-length auburn hair, mostly for warmth, but also to keep the rebellious waves under control. Huddled in her old blue coat with its broken zipper, she looked out of place in this stylish fashion capital. She felt like an outsider among the immaculately dressed locals, with their perfectly groomed hair and expensive boots and natural sense of style.

  When she and Jacqui were young, they had often been forced to wear worn, torn, ill-fitting clothing to school, with their widowed father angrily insisting there was no money to buy them anything better. Cassie had accepted her lot more readily than Jacqui, who had hated looking shabby and poor.

  It made sense that her sister would have been drawn to one of the world’s fashion capitals, where every piece of clothing was trendy, beautiful, and new.

  Gasping for breath, Cassie saw the street name ahead looked familiar.

  This was the road she wanted. Now all she had to do was find the shop.

  It was called Cartoleria, but she didn’t know if that was the actual name or a description. There had been a language barrier when speaking to the clerk on the phone. Cassie had managed to obtain the road name from the increasingly impatient woman, even though the only English she had known were the words “We are closing,” which she had repeated several times before finally snapping out, “Addio,” and slamming the phone down.

  Cassie had decided the only way to find out would be to visit the store personally.

  It had taken her a week to get organized, and to drive the whole way from Edinburgh, where she’d been staying, to Milan. She’d planned to arrive much earlier, but had been stuck in traffic coming into the city and had lost her way several times before finding a cheap place to park. Her GPS had malfunctioned and her phone’s battery was almost dead. Thankfully she’d thought to print the map out earlier. What time did most places close here? Six p.m.? Later?

  Anxiety surged inside her as she saw the store ahead of her was already closing up for the day, the shopkeeper turning the sign on the door and switching off the lights.

  “Excuse me. Cartoleria. Do you know which way it is?” she asked him, anxious that every second counted.

  He frowned at her, and then pointed down the road and said something in Italian that she didn’t understand. At least he’d steered her in the right direction, because she’d been about to rush the other way.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Signorina!” he called after her, but Cassie wasn’t stopping for anyone.

  She was breathless with excitement. There was a small chance that Jacqui might actually be working in this shop. Cassie imagined walking in and coming face to face with her sister. She wondered what Jacqui would do. She knew that she herself would scream with joy and hug her as tightly as she could. Then there would be the chance to talk, to find out what had happened and why Jacqui had disappeared for so long without getting in touch.

  Even though it wasn’t very likely, Cassie couldn’t help but dream.

  There it was, ahead. She saw the sign, Cartoleria, and broke into a run. They must still be open—they must. This was her chance, her opportunity to reconnect with the only family she still cared about.

  She splashed over the rain-soaked paving stones, weaving between the slower-moving pedestrians sheltering under their bulky umbrellas.

  Then she stopped, staring at the shop front in disbelief.

  Cartoleria was closed.

  Not just for the day, but forever.

  The windows were boarded up, but through a gap in the peeling covers she could see the dark shell beyond. The sign above the door, battered and dingy, was the only reminder that this store had once been open.

  Staring at the bleak, empty space, Cassie realized too late that she had misunderstood the impatient store attendant when she had called a week ago. The woman had been trying to tell her that they were closing up shop for good. If she’d figured that out at the time, she could have called back immediately, asked more questions, and been more persuasive.

  Instead she’d driven hundreds of miles, only to be faced with the deadest of dead ends.

  Her lead was gone, along with her hopes and dreams. She’d lost her only chance of finding her sister again.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Staring at the empty store, Cassie felt crushed by disappointment. She knew she should leave, walk away into the dark, damp evening and start the long journey back to her car, but she couldn’t bring herself to go.

  It was as if turning away now meant giving up forever, and when she thought about it in that way, her feet felt rooted to the spot. She couldn’t shake the certainty that there must still be something, somehow, that would lead her to Jacqui.

  Looking around, she saw one of the neighboring shops was still open. It looked to be a coffee shop and bistro. Perhaps somebody there would know who the owner of Cartoleria was, and where he or she had gone.

  Cassie headed into the bistro, relieved to find shelter from the gusty rain. The interior smelled deliciously of coffee and bread, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten today. A massive chrome cappuccino machine stood in pride of place on the wooden counter.

  There was space for only four tables inside, and all of them were occupied. There was an empty seat at the bar, though, so she sat there.

  The harassed-looking waiter rushed over to her.

  “Cosa prendi?” he asked.

  Cassie guessed he wanted to take her order.

  “Sorry, I don’t speak Italian,” she apologized, hoping he understood her. “Do you know who owned the shop next door?”

  The young man shrugged, looking puzzled.

  “I can bring you food?” he asked in broken English.

  Realizing that the language barrier had brought an end to her questioning, Cassie quickly scanned the menu scribbled on the black chalkboard on the back wall.

  “Coffee, please. And a panini.”

  She peeled some notes from the shrinking stash in her wallet. The prices in Milan were even higher than she’d expected, but it was getting late and she was starving.

  “You are Americana?” the man sitting next to her asked.

  Impressed, Cassie nodded.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “My name is Vadim,” he introduced himself.

  He didn’t sound Italian, but her ear for accents was not nearly as good as his. She guessed he might be from somewhere in Eastern Europe, or perhaps even Russia.

  “I’m Cassie Vale,” she replied.

  He looked to be a few years older than her, which put him in his late twenties, and he was wearing a leather jacket and jeans. In front of him was a half-finished glass of red wine.

  “You are on holiday here? Or working, studying?” he asked.

  “I’ve actually traveled here to find somebody.”

  The confessi
on felt painful, now that Cassie feared she never would.

  His thick brows drew together in a frown.

  “How do you mean, find? Find someone in particular?”

  “Yes. My sister.”

  “You make it sound as if she is lost?” he asked.

  “She is. I followed a clue which I hoped would help me find her. A while ago, she called my friend in the States, and we traced the number.”

  “So you traced the caller ID and came here? That is some detective work,” Vadim said admiringly, as the waiter slid her coffee across the counter.

  “No, I was too slow. You see, she called twice looking for me. The first number didn’t work at all. I only realized last week that the other call might have been made from a different number.”

  Vadim nodded sympathetically.

  “And now, Cartoleria is closed,” Cassie told him.

  “The shop next door?”

  “Yes. That was where she phoned from. I’m hoping to find out who owned it.”

  He frowned.

  “I know Cartoleria is a chain of stores. There are others elsewhere in Milan. It is an Internet café and sells—pens, pencils, those items.”

  “Stationery,” Cassie suggested.

  “Yes, that is it. Perhaps if you call another store, they could help you find the manager of this one.”

  The waiter returned and set a plate down in front of her, and Cassie dug in hungrily.

  “You have traveled here all alone?” Vadim asked.

  “Yes, I came here on my own, hoping to find Jacqui.”

  “Why are you the one looking for her, and she is not looking for you, too?”

  “We had a difficult childhood,” she told him. “My mother died when she was young and my father didn’t cope without her. He became very angry, as if he wanted to destroy everyone’s lives.”

  Vadim nodded sympathetically.

  “Jacqui was older than me, and one day, she just left. I don’t think she could handle it anymore. His anger, the shouting, broken glass on the floor most mornings. He had many different girlfriends, and there were often strangers in the house.”